The C2C

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We decided to attempt the UK Coast to Coast (C2C) ride as part of our preparations and to get some miles in for our new bikes before we head off into the wide blue yonder. Wardy (the third member of our team for this trip) has completed this ride previously but from an alternative starting point and was keen to do it again.

The Route
Day 1 : Workington > Greystoke
Day 2 : Greystoke > Allenheads
Day 3 : Allenheads > North Shields

The total distance is about 140 miles with day 2 across the Pennines predicted to be the tough one.

Check The Gallery for photographs from the C2C.

The Cause
We have decided to do this ride for a good cause and have chosen The Alzheimer's Society (registered charity number 296645 in the UK). We are currently obtaining sponsorship from friends and colleagues but feel free to visit their website or make a donation if you so wish..

Update.... We ended up raising £272.00 for The Alzheimers Society. Thanks to all who contributed.

Day 0 : Harrow to Workington

We'd been told that the recent sunny weather wouldn't last so we were pleasantly surprised to find blue skies greeting us when we woke. A quick breakfast was followed by a quick shower and then (pausing only to finish fitting Vic's cycle computer and remove the toes-straps from my MTB) we were off to the station.

Vic gave Wardy a quick call while I got the bikes out and found he was already waiting on the platform. So far so good. She asked if he had brought any photo ID with him and discovered his packing harked back to a carefree bygone age when they let anyone with a ticket onto an internal flight. No need to panic though as we'd given ourselves plenty of time to get to Euston for our train north. It just meant we'd have to get a coffee on the train instead of the station and we felt it was worth it to get the cock-up out of the way early on.

The journey from Euston to Carlisle was relaxing, uneventful and fairly quick. Sadly not quite quick enough for us to make our connecting train despite us only making 3 stops on the way up. There didn't seem to be any good reason for us arriving 20 minutes late other than drumming up business for the Carlisle coffee bar and WH Smiths. That reminds me, I called Oliver Stone at the time to see if he fancied directing the Day 0 section of the C2C but I still haven't heard from him. Note to self : chase Stone's secretary.

We passed the hour till our train arrived with a mix of lounging, wandering and putting our feet up so we were like coiled springs when the train finally arrived. With a slickness that belied our novice status we unclipped the panniers, hauled the bikes aboard and secured them with an unnecessarily complicated intertwining of cable lock and luggage strap.

At this point the notebook apologises for wobbly handwriting but makes the excellent point that no-one will know once this is typed up.

We like nothing better than a brisk walk before dinner which is fortunate when the nearest restaurants are a cinema-complex Wimpy and a department store cafeteria which seemed to have the monopoly on Cumbria's cling film wrapped slices of cherry pie. Undaunted we pressed on to town. We eschewed the delights of the Wetherspoons pub and searched Workington for a better option before finally settling for the same Wetherspoons pub. The simple, hearty fare hit the spot along with a couple of lagers but it wasn't long before our body clocks started to wind down.

The stroll back was quicker this time, largely due to the fact that it consisted of 50 yards from pub to taxi and 10 yards from taxi to hotel. We would have preferred to walk but we felt contributing to the local economy was more important.

Day 1 : Workington to Greystoke

We all had a very good night's sleep and started Day 1 of the ride with cooked breakfasts and plenty of tea. We weren't sure how this would fuel us but we were in good spirits as we left on time at 9am. We knew roughly where the start was but our landlady was happy to confirm what we already knew before sending us on our way. We'd set aside 10 minutes to get to the start but it was 45 minutes before we actually arrived at the all-important car park. The extra 35 minutes was taken up on a tour of "No Access" signposted docks, cross country paths and a 50 metre footbridge which was about 1 cm wider than us and our bikes. With the commemorative photo in the bag and our cycle computers zeroed and snapped in place, it was time for the off.

It felt really good to be on our way some 6 months after we first decided to attempt the journey. It's not as if we spent the intervening time planning everything to the last degree (as will be shown) but nevertheless the start has been a while coming. A slight doubt existed over my decision not to pack any long cycling trousers. I was hoping that constant motion and 25 years climate training in Teesside would see me through.

The 15 or 20 kilometres to Cockermouth are on cycle paths and quiet roads and are home to some of north-west England's gentlest gradients. It's exactly what you need when you start out. Even so, there were a couple of testers which we passed with flying colours. (I'm considering getting to the top to be a pass mark for this exam.) So what if I occasionally sent my unfamiliar gears the wrong signal and ground to a halt? So what if we were overtaken by a runner with a bulging (probably with balloons) backpack? He wasn't so cocky on the downhill sections, although we looked more knackered even when we were freewheeling.

Cockermouth looks about 2/5ths of the way to Keswick and Keswick was about 60% through the day's ride. Even the non-mathematicians in the party rejoiced at reaching this stage although we were far too busy to do the math or show our working out. Sadly, there were no prizes for reaching Cockermouth but we had one waiting in Keswick in the form of fish & chips at a chippy I fondly remembered from childhood visits. We knew if we could continue apace we'd reach the pride of Derwentwater by about 1:30pm and be elbow deep in fried cod 5 minutes after that.

If I had to describe the next 10kms in one word it would be "hilly". Two words would get us to "bloody hilly" and any more than two would probably see me repeating myself once I'd run out of swear words. Frankly, we were disappointed. Our training had consisted of rides with hills (the 5kms to and from work) and rides for endurance (25kms along the canal towpath) so we felt that we could handle anything. What we could handle were gently undulating roads. What we couldn't were gradients that are described with the words "one in" and then a digit which could be indicated without using our other hand.

I realise Sir Isaac Newton was only trying to be helpful when he decided to invent the law of gravity. He probably meant no harm with his apples and trees and whatnot but if he could have seen me forcing a heavily laden bike up a hill using the previously untouched granny ring, then he might have had second thoughts. The sort of second thoughts I was having about the contents of my panniers which included a pair of very heavy jeans and Wardy's going-out shoes.

I had the second-last laugh though as I simply hopped off the bike and pushed when gravity became unbearable. The last laugh was reserved for Shimano-san as his pedals repeatedly whacked into my calves and ankles while I performed said manoeuvre.

Let me pause for a moment to ask you, dear reader, a question. How would you feel if you bought two drinks with a £20 note and only got change for a tenner? (This does not apply to those people buying drinks in Central London as that really is change from a twenty.) Feeling cheated? Thought so. Imagine if you bought those same two drinks with Van Gogh's Sunflowers (what do you mean your local doesn't take artwork) and still only got change for a tenner. That's how we felt after slogging up hill after hill to find the ascent did not consist of the smooth tarmac so prominent on the way up but a rough and rocky track which could not be ridden down. We'd provided the action to get up there, so where was our equal and opposite reaction which our old friend Newton's third law had promised us? I can just about handle getting off and pushing on the uphill but on the downhills as well?

We finally reached Keswick at 3:30pm looking something like a Burma railway gang on the day the quartermaster ran out of khaki fatigues and started handing out lycra instead. We were down on the clock and trying not to be down in the mouth. Hearty lunches at the Old Keswickian lifted our spirits and we tried not to think of the possibility of three hapless souls pushing bikes up a hill in the dark. Our accommodation at Greystoke was still a long way off...

Like almost every football game, Day 1 was a game of two halves. The road out of Keswick leads to a former railway line and this runs gently through woodland while playfully crossing and re-crossing a beautiful stream. As well as the normal path there's a boardwalk section which appears out of nowhere and looks like it's been transplanted in from the set of Jurassic Park III. Thankfully, we didn't have any Pterodactyls to deal with.

This section came at the right time and reminded us both why we cycle and that the C2C was meant to be fun. Something the hills made us (and would make us again) forget at times. We chose the route parallel to the A66 after deciding that the Old Coach Road option ("danger", "extended, tough climb", "seek medical attention", "medivac") was not for us. At one point on this section the route veers alarmingly away from and back to the main road without offering much more than an extra 4 or 5kms and the chance to avoid being sucked under the wheels of an articulated lorry. It says much for our state of mind that it took us 5 minutes and two fig rolls to weigh up the pro and con before choosing life.

The casual observer would have said that this detour would take us straight up some mountain but our superior map reading skills lead us to believe that rather than crossing, we we'd be running parallel to the contour lines. This turned out to be correct and this excursion reminded us that long, slow uphill sections can, and should, lead to long, exhilarating downhill sections. Our usual commute has a downhill of about 250 metres and we have to stop for a roundabout at the bottom. An accurate exhiler-ometer would be lucky to clock this as a 4 but the same cannot be said of the descent near Beckside. My MTB has gearing which means that pedalling furiously in top gear can get you to about 40km/h but our tourers can manage this on the middle ring. This left the big ring as our passport to previously unknown velocities. The road out of Beckside became our drag strip.

The three of us took the hairpin which started our downhill return towards the A66. I checked the clear open road, moved out from behind the leader, slipped the chain onto the big ring and started to open out as I crested the first hill. I felt the wind resistance build along with the noise of the air whistling past me as my speed rose. It felt good to be able to maintain a sensible cadence while seeing the countryside zip by in a blur. All this with gears to spare!

The road fell initially for a couple of hundred metres before going through a series of slight rises and sweeping turns. This gave the ride a rollercoaster-ish feel as the bike steadily lost and regained momentum. Checking the speedo at the bottom showed that today's top speed had been set at 61.0km/h and even at that speed the bike had felt really solid and stable.

Greystoke had taken on an almost Atlantis-like status during the day but once we regained the A66 we had it in our sights. Metaphorically at least as there were still a few little hills in the way. We had somehow managed to get ourselves back on course timewise. The last hour passed quickly and easily and we rolled into town at about 7:30pm. By 7:45 we had pints on the table and food on the way at the local pub. Greystoke is a beautiful sleepy little village, the sort of place where everyone knows each other and the postman opens the front door and pops the letters on the hall table.

We knew we had a hard day to follow and think the pressure of having to get a good night's sleep got to us all. We had to tackle the Pennines with 8 hours of restless sleep behind us...

Stats
Distance 69.52 km
Ave Speed 15.8 km/h
Top Speed 60.0 km/h
Ride Time 4:24.42

Total Distance 69.52 km

Day 2 : Greystoke to Allenheads

From my daily dairy :-

I'm writing this in a bed I thought I'd never see. A bed, in fact, which the Pennines tried to stop me from ever lying in. If I'm being fair, it wasn't the whole range but rather one hill in particular that's to blame. The hill in question comprised of slopes which not content with being steep (they were), insisted on being little more than muddy, rocky trails which even bearded ramblers would fear to tread. Even ramblers armed with nothing more than a lightweight walking stick and not a heavyweight bicycle. But enough of the quest for Hartside...

Day 2 started in Greystoke, a village lucky enough to witness our 3-man peleton at the peak of its powers. Blencow couldn't hold us. Newton Reigny couldn't slow us. In fact, it was lucky for Penrith that we needed to fix the first (last?) puncture of the trip as well as stock up on supplies of Nurofen, cash and, erm, Fair Trade purses.

Penrith to Langwathby was similarly high-paced as we charged headlong to meet the dreaded Hartside climb. Then something happened an it happened as we scorched through Little Salkeld. Maybe a full-scale investigation would determine whether it was biorhythms, ley lines, changes in wind speed or just a slight upward gradient which caused us to slow to a snail's pace. It really was the strangest thing - the road didn't look like it was going uphill and even if it was it should have been something we could have taken in our stride. Nevertheless, the 45 minutes we had set aside for the 10k to Renwick was comfortably doubled.

We studied the route profile as we sat refuelling on left over Keswick Cornish pasties by a farmer's field. All it showed us was the sort of terrain we had lapped up a number of times already however the actual road had a different tale to tell. It was like cycling through treacle. Taking food onboard at Renwick was a matter of necessity as the time was already 1pm. As ever, we had misjudged the amount of time needed to get to our lunch stop as we had only 30 more minutes to reach the top of the Hartside if the schedule was to be believed.

We'd never have made it if not for those pasties, but even so, the lower slopes tested us mentally as well as physically. Once again, we could find no momentum and hills we were climbing easily earlier in the day became ones we had to get off and push. Kilometres we had hoped to do in 5 minutes started taking 15. In short, we were starting to struggle to the extent that at one point Wardy got off his bike and tried to find whatever was catching and slowing him down. Whatever it was was slowing all of us down.

It's the times when you really have to battle that you find out about yourself. Not every physical endeavour is about pushing yourself to the limit but you certainly find out what you're made of when you do. The way Vic handled herself when she reached the end of her tether is hopefully something she can be proud of. Admittedly, there was a point where she would have loaded herself and SoB aboard a passing Harrow-bound hay wagon. To be honest, Wardy and I would have been hoping it was a 3-seater. But the fact of the matter is that we didn't give up and I think it's that which will prove most memorable about today. That's if I don't get a course of hypnotherapy to forget the whole thing.

The slog up the tarmac of the first half of the climb told us one thing - the next actual cycling we'd do would involve us, half the contents of the Hartside Cafe's larder and freewheeling at speeds in excess of 60km/h. We figured if we're going to push then we might as well choose the shorter route. As a result we left the tarmac and headed for the cross-country direct route. We always try to operate from a position of perfect logic. Just like getting the meat curry in the staff canteen, this proved to be a mistake. Let's not get carried away here but pushing our bikes up that steep and rocky path was just about the hardest thing I've ever done for fun. It might have been difficult but if I ever bump into Sisyphus down the pub I'll have something to talk to him about.

We battled our way up the rocky path until the crest of the hill came into sight and as we approached it we realised our climb was not quite over. We still had about a kilometre of fell to cover and a final gravel track to the cafe carpark. I don't think any of us had any noticeable brain activity for this last 20 minutes as we settled into a centimetre-devouring stumble onwards. Nevertheless, we made it and it was 3 shell-shocked individuals who wobbled inside with only vague memories of who we were and what constituted normal behaviour at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. Eight beverages between us addressed our initial needs but it was food that saved the day. Wardy and I were almost passed eating but forced down much-needed ham & cheese toasties while Vic managed quiche and chips. Once the meals had been dispatched we sat and examined the map. Our spirits had raised but we knew our work for the day was far from done.

Wardy, the veteran of a previous C2C, pointed out that after the Hartside descent we had two choices; Garrigill or Alston. Both got us into Nenthead but Alston seemed to hug the valley while he knew Garrigill involved another Category A climb. At this point we were running out of paper to keep a note of the King Of The Mountains competition so we chose the Alston option.

We left the wreckage of our food, unlocked the bikes and paused for a photo opportunity by the Hartside road sign which told us we'd climbed 1, 903 feet since yesterday. It felt like it. It must've taken us over 2 hours to cover the 10kms from Renwick to the Hartside cafe but it took us less than 20 minutes to travel a greater distance down to Alston. That timing is approximate as it didn't feel safe to look at my watch, cycle computer or anything but the road at the speeds involved on this descent. The glances I did take at the Enduro2 confirmed a cruising speed of 50km/h with top speed later shown to be 72.0km/h.

The road from Alston to Nenthead was tackled like a morning session - speed on the flats allowing us to power up and over any hills we met on the way. We had two more extended climbs; one from Nenthead to Black Hill (AKA The Highest Point on The C2C) and the other on a random piece of bleak windswept moor. From here the map was our friend. We were on dark taupe and Allenheads lay on a swathe of beige and that could mean only one thing. We were about to freewheel to our home for the night.

We soon zipped down into the valley and, with fingers and toes starting to feel the cold, slipped into a lower gear and pedalled for about a mile through Allenheads. The road followed the path of a river which we could hear better than we could see and it was pretty gloomy when we slowed to a halt outside the Allenheads Inn.

The riding for Day 2 was over and somehow we had made it. All that was left was to refuel and relive the battles of the day. We weren't elated, just tired, satisfied and relieved that the worst was over.

Stats
Distance 66.59 km
Ave Speed 12.4 km/h
Top Speed 72.0 km/h
Ride Time 5:21.18

Total Distance 136.11 km

Day 3 : Allenheads to Newcastle

Day 3 started in a slightly subdued mood as we were all feeling a mixture of apprehension at the initial climb out of Allenheads, excitement at the thought of finishing and that sense of sadness when any trip comes to an end.

Or maybe it was because we were all hurting from the Pennines. We all had pretty heavy legs plus assorted niggles; I'd developed a pain between my shoulder blades from pushing the bike and I think I must've twanged my Achilles Tendon as well.

Wardy had advised us that we had two climbs today and the maps seemed to back him up. The first was straight out of Allenheads and it seemed to last forever. Once again the views were amazing as the pine tree lined road snaked to the top. We were overtaken on the way up by 4/5ths of a group who must have been fellow guests at the Allenheads Inn. Their last member was doggedly pushing up the hill like us. Seeing other cyclists was good and seeing one of our standard was strangely encouraging and put things back into perspective. The amount of pushing we'd done in the Pennines had almost made us believe that we couldn't successfully tackle any hills. Even extended cycling on the flat had become a distant memory as for most of Day 2 it seemed as if all we were doing was pushing the bikes up one side of an extended climb before flying down the other side.

This was great physical preparation for the bike trip but mentally was a bit different. The combination of long, exhausting days and lots of pushing the bikes had made us lose sight of why we go cycling. Part of the pleasure comes from the feeling of satisfaction and propelling yourself from A to B. The C2C had this in abundance if at the moment we were too tired to appreciate it. The rest comes from absorbing the scenery and having time to relax at the end of the day. One thing we were learning is that it's not much fun having to constantly push on and on in order to get to that night's accommodation.

It's unfair to blame this trip for not being easy and relaxed though. After all, we chose to do a ride with a modest mountain range to cross and a (for us) punishing schedule. But back to Day 3... The descent into Rookhope that Saturday morning was one of the best of the trip for me. Certainly not the fastest but it was long and car-free and the road had many sweeping turns and no surprises. What followed was a scene we'd seen played out a number of times before... The hill slowly flattened out and we cruised along the flat roads before the gradient increased and our route headed straight up the side of a fell. The rocky path was difficult going and heavy legs pushed heavy bikes for more than an hour before we reached the top. The top of this climb is reached by heading through a high-sided cut in the rocks and this leads to a ruin which, for us anyway, marked the last notable climb of the C2C.

The rocky road we climbed did not transform into smooth tarmac at the peak but we scarcely cared. It was a joy to remount and pick our way across the rubble-strewn path which cut straight across, and gently down, the moor. This was real out-of-the-way stuff. The moor opened up and the level of isolation increased but it was hard to do anything other than concentrate on anything other than the narrow gully which was our way down. The cyclable part of the Waskerly Way was probably 50cms wide and anywhere up to 30cms deep. A number of times our pedals ground the sides but nothing could stop or even slow us down. Well, apart from the odd stream that had to be forged.

The enforced stopping points allowed us to pause and take in our surroundings. At one point we could see virtually no sign of human life. The thought of being up there on foot as the weather closed on was not a pretty one. This sheep track eventually evolved into a cinder track and this turned out to be one of the best sections of the entire trip. The cinder track descended slowly towards the coast and we soon settled into a good rhythm which devoured the kilometres.

We passed up the chance of lunch at 12ish at a popular cafe on the Waskerly Way and decided to push on to Consett. We were making good time and figured we could cover the 20 or so kilometres quickly and be eating lunch by 1:30pm. Our progress wasn't quite as quick as we'd planned from here as we had to regularly slow to cross roads but we were still covering the ground fast enough to reach the outskirts of Consett only slightly behind the clock. The landscape how now changed from tree-lined paths to more industrial scenery and the C2C route became slightly less clear. It was this that really slowed our progress as we searched for the now-familiar Sustrans symbols. When the symbols arrived it quickly became clear that our path would not take us through the town of Consett (which, to be honest, we could live with) or past any food supplies (which we couldn't).

It was after 2 o'clock by now so Wardy and I left Vic in the park and we headed up the hill to find supplies. We managed to get a rich haul of pasties, sarnies and chips but at a cost in time. Somehow it had taken us 45 minutes to get up there and back and it was approaching 3:30pm when we saddled up and hit the trail. A disused railway line formed the path from Consett towards Newcastle. Although pleasantly leafy, the quality of surface was a bit hit and miss and some sections were real bone shakers. I guess we were probably doing the C2C a bit early in the season and as a result we had seen only a few cyclists thus far. It was a different story on Route 14 (Derwent Way) and it's not difficult to see why as it's a little bit of nature running through a fairly residential area.

A Sustrans ranger we met on this section was keen to chat, offer route advice and generally enthuse about cycling. I guess he was at one end of the spectrum of Derwent Way riders which included kids with stabilisers, us and middle-aged women who chatted as they went. A little further we had what turned out to be the biggest (and only) spill of the trip. Vic had blasted ahead and had a decent lead as we approached another of the road crossings. When we arrived at the top of the bank down to the road we were dismayed to find a tangle of bike and rider lying bruised (Vic), chipped (SoB) and dusty (both). The damage was thankfully quite minor and both bike and rider were able to resume after a short break.

We pressed ever onward to Newcastle with one eye on the path and the other on the clock. We had decided that Vic would stop at our hotel in Newcastle while Wardy and I would press on to North Shields, a further 20kms down river. What faced us was...

a) we'd need to get to the hotel to drop Vic and the bags off
b) we'd need to cycle 20kms pretty quickly
c) we'd have to persuade the Metro to allow us to take our bikes on
d) we had no lights if we had to cycle back in the dark

Faced with those known facts we knew we had to get to the hotel by 5 o'clock. From the outskirts to the centre of Newcastle was slow going but it was while we were heading along the quayside that the Enduro2 clicked over to 200kms. We checked the maps and saw we were a close to the hotel as we were going to get on the C2C route so we attempted to nip there and drop the stuff off. Given our timekeeping on the trip so far it should come as no surprise that it was 6:10pm when we knocked on the door and a quick calculation of what we had left indicated it'd take us another 3 hours at least to get there and back. Maybe 4 if we couldn't get public transport.

It's at this point in the tale where we grab a handful of jelly babies, stare resolutely down river and bravely cycle off to complete our epic journey.

To be fair, the previous sentence would be more accurate if the word "didn't" was slipped between "we" and "grab". For total accuracy the sentence would need to include the phrases "call it a day", "went for a lie down" and "was in the curry house by 8 o'clock". Do I regret the decision not to press on? Maybe a little. The bottom line is that journey from Workington to Newcastle was arduous enough and carrying on to North Shields would have been the icing on the cake rather than the be-all-and-end-all. The only problem was that there was no definite end point. One minute we were plodding along the key side, the next we were heading for the hotel and the next it was all over and that made it feel a bit unsatisfactory.

All that was left was to freshen up, call a cab and head to the Indian restaurant which was recommended to us by the friendly Sustrans ranger - the Koh I Noor. The waiter we had like to introduce a random element in to our order but the food and drink were nice enough and it was three non-disapopinted cyclists who sat there reliving the highs and lows of the last three days.

We persuaded the cabbie we got back to the hotel that it would be a great idea if he came back to get us at 5am for our trip to the airport. He was sceptical that his people carrier would handle us and our bikes but we put his mind at rest - we had swanky bike bags and all would be OK. When we got back to the hotel we decided we'd better make a start on the packing as this would be the first time the bags had been used so we may be a bit unsure of the process. I started on Vic's bike and in a matter of minutes had the pedals and wheels off. The tyres deflated in the blink of an eye and the handlebars were offset with some deft allen key work. That done, we opened the bag, spread it out and popped the frame in. Or rather didn't as it didn't fit. "Aha," I thought, "the mudguards and racks." At this point I was tiring slightly of the bike deconstruction game but pressed on towards what I hoped would be victory. Ten minutes saw the additional bits removed and it was then that it became obvious that the frame was not going to fit in the bag. The beautiful dream of converting our shiny bikes into easy-to-carry components lay in tatters. More pertinently, Vic's bike was in a similar state with my mental wellbeing not far behind. I've never cried in a corridor of a Tyneside guesthouse but that night was the closest I've been.

I'd imagine we cut pretty forlorn figures as we tramped up to our room with a 10-piece bike-shaped jigsaw tucked under our arms. We decided to tackle the rebuilding at the airport and at 12 midnight we switched of the light and waited for our 4:30 alarm call. We didn't have long to wait. Certainly not 4.5 hours as the recent movers and shakers in the Newcastle drinking world came home for the night. Boots clumping up and down, booming stage whispers and confused stumblings made sleep unlikely and it was at this point that I started to worry about the bikes. I headed downstairs armed with the extra D-lock (armed is the right word) but I needn't have worried. Our fellow guests were having a hard enough time getting into their own rooms to pose much threat to a locked bike.

All that was left was to get up in the middle of the night, force three unpacked bikes into the back of a people carrier, reassemble one of them outside Newcastle airport and check in. It was a pain getting up early but we were all back in our homes by 10am.

So, had we enjoyed it? Yes overall but with some parts more than others. The cycling bits were good and the pushing bits were bad.

Had it prepared us for the Big Trip? Definitely as it taught us that there are bigger hills than the one in Harrow and it reminded us that we don't want to cycle from dawn till dusk if we can help it.

The best thing of all was that despite the tiredness, lack of sleep and the odd niggling pain, we all missed not being on our bikes that Sunday afternoon.

Stats
Distance 67.46 km
Ave Speed 13.7 km/h
Top Speed 61.0 km/h
Ride Time 4:55.32

Total Distance 203.57 km